The Protectors of the Realm
by cocotiks
Summary: Unseen moments on Dragonstone between Daenerys and Jon. And how she must come to terms with her grief and struggles with accepting a new path in life after the battle with the Night King. Scenes from Ep 6, and 3-4.
1. Chapter 1

**HELLO READERS OLD AND NEW!**

 **WARNING for some adult themes. Scenes from Episode THREE to FOUR. There's not much structure to it, but since I had these scenes written I thought I would share them with you anyway. I've indicated the episode name and where in the timeline it would fit into the story. After this I will jump ahead to write Episode 7 scenes, and start REARRANGING chapters. (since these should be before Chapter 1 technically)**

 **Thanks for the support! 3**

* * *

 _ **Episode Three: The Queen's Justice.**_

 _JON_

A bald man whispered into the Queen's ear, whatever it was he could tell that it was of greater urgency and importance than the King in the North. _Thank the Gods, maybe we still have a chance to get the hell out of here._

Queen Daenerys masked her concern with taciturn graciousness, never unclasping her hands in front of her. "You must forgive my manners, you must be tired after your journey," she addressed them with practiced words. "We'll have baths drawn for you and supper sent to your rooms." She turned to a Dothraki guard and spoke to him in a foreign tongue before spinning away up the steps towards the towering carved stone throne.

Jon had the courage to ask, he'd be damned if he didn't, he had thousands of people waiting for him to return to the North; "Am I your prisoner?"

She half-turned and looked straight at him; "Not yet."

He glanced at Davos, they shared a look that collectively described how fucked in the arse they were. He peered at Tyrion and the baldman for any kind of assurances, but no one said a word as the queen waited for Jon and Davos to leave so she could have a private meeting with her advisors. They were led off by the Dothraki guard dressed in sheep furs and leather riding boots, carrying a long curved sword. If he had known this would be the outcome of the fateful meeting with the dragon queen he would have brought more Winterfell men with him on the trip. He felt dreadfully, laughably outnumbered amongst the horselords who could lope his head off if their queen commanded it.

 _Northern fool indeed._

The guard looked Jon and Ser Davos up and down with mild curiosity as he deposited them at their chambers. Jon made quick determined strides inside and his sole companion shut the door behind them.

"We can't stay here," he said through gritted teeth without a moment lost. _What did I expect her to do anyway when I tried to explain the army of the dead? I should have stayed in the North._

The older mans' deep forehead wrinkles were even more prominent then; "I know."

"You lived on Dragonstone for years with Stannis, you know this castle better than anyone, find our ship. Otherwise send a raven to White Harbour to send us another," he instructed.

The Onion Knight blinked at him, scratched his salt and pepper beard, taken by the rashness of the order. Jon saw it too but he didn't care. "WE could, but there still could be chance to settle this with negot—"

"I'm not looking for chances, or ifs and maybes," he cut him off, he despised tongue twisters and shady remarks. There was no room in his head for half-promises and half-threats. _The cost of being king._ "I've always hated this game, and we have no more time for that. I have nothing to offer 'the queen.'" He said the title with a hint of disdain. "We have no men to commit to her cause."

"The Dothraki patrol the beaches," pointed out the knight, whom he could tell often tried to speak to him as though he were a king and not like a son. "It would be extremely rude and of no reasonable sense to steal away in the middle of the night like common thieves."

The way she sat on the throne, like she knows she was born to sit on it. _More a conquerer than a queen._ Gods he couldn't remember the last time he'd had that many titles and proclamations announced off to him in one breath. Does the translator memorize those by heart off each day? And what did Ser Davos have to say of him? 'This is Jon Snow. He's King in the North.'

To be fair there wasn't much to him besides that.

 _I'm just a Northern bastard in her eyes,_ he surmised from the haughty look she gave from her seat.

And yet, she asked for forgiveness for her father's crimes, _she called him evil._ Someone told her the truth. He was taken aback, rendered speechless even; Tyrion had a small smug smile on him when she did that. Her character at first glance could be forgiven. She was capable of being humble at least. He'd correctly called her out on her choice not to march on King's Landing immediately despite her immense military strength. _She's not Cersei._

Davos told him the stories of how she liberated the slaves along Slaver's Bay in Essos. And because of that, somehow, Jon saw right through the queenly air she exuded. It was an act.

 _Or I could be wrong,_ he thought dejectedly, _I've been wrong before. A shit judge of character before._

But perhaps there was something there; there could be a chance. Yet it was so wafer thin it could float off into the sky. He couldn't let whatever understanding and kindness she showed him throw him off. He was still determined to leave.

"Please do as I've asked," Jon told the knight more firmly. "I don't intend to be here if the Queen changes her mind."

This time, Davos did not suggest an alternative; "At once, my king." _Still needs some getting used too._ The Onion knight spun on his heel and exited the room.

* * *

DAENERYS

Dorne and the Iron Islands lost. In one fell swoop. She should never have placed her faith in reavers and traitors. This was going to cost them dearly. She needed to rely on the second half of Tyrion's plan to succeed. Missandei sat near her listening to her advisors, with a look of concern that mimicked how Dany actually felt on the inside. Tyrion and Varys spoke to each other, and to her, both trying to explain that this wasn't a major setback (even though it definitely was), that there was still hope to continue to press her claim whilst maintaining restraint. _I show restraint whilst Cersei blows up a Sept full of innocent lords and ladies, her daughter in law, her uncle, her cousin. Not to mention the direct consequences of her wildfire explosion made her son take his own life shortly thereafter._

At this stage, Cersei had killed more of her kinsman than Tyrion had.

 _But_ I _must show restraint?_ Gods, it was frustrating. _But it must be done this way._

Tyrion and Varys continued to speak. There was so much back and forth trading of information that it became an endless drone to her.

"Leave us," she said with finality to end the discussion, indicating that she wanted to speak to the Hand of the Queen alone. His shoulders fell a fraction once it was just them. He knew her, and he knew when she was controlling her anger in front of the others and that he would get the brunt of it.

He glanced at her, "the Unsullied will reach Casterly Rock in—"

"I have lost two allies and I have another kingdom in open rebellion," she bit out, barely able to quell her rage. This self-proclaimed Northern King refuses to bend the knee and insults her. She could have forgiven Tyrion's misjudgment of Jon Snow, if the other failures had not been brought to light and exacerbated the blow.

"They were rebelling before you got here against my sister," he said of the King in the North. "And believe me she would smile in her sleep if she knew you two were fighting one another. And she didn't even have to lift a finger to dispose of the Dragon Queen."

She leaned forward in her seat, and asked gravely, "you think Jon Snow would harm me?" She'd mistakenly allowed traitors and murderers into her home before; she would not make that mistake again.

Tyrion's gaze widened at her suggestion like it was absurd for her to even consider it. "Absolutely not," he said, slow and resolutely.

"He is plotting his escape I presume?"

"Of course he is."

"Unbelievable."

"Can you blame him though?" Said the Lannister. "He's unsure what your next move is. Which brings me to the next question; what is to be done with the King in the North?"

She breathed out through her nostrils, keeping her hands in her lap, the confrontation with the Northern lord replaying in her head. "You mean that mad man?" Dany said, "Army of the dead,'" she scoffed under her breath, _myths and legends_. She believed in the magic of her dragons because they existed for centuries. But the white walkers were the stuff of old-wives tales. "For starters he can swallow his great Northern pride, bend the knee and I will legitimize him, and maybe he can keep his head."

Tyrion squeezed his eyes, tilted his head, looking hesitant. "Perhaps that is a little too premature, don't you think? Jon Snow is a broody; honor bound young man, but a good man, a lot like Ned Stark." He sat down and poured himself a glass of wine; she supposed she needed a drink too following the dire news. "He was Lord Commander of the Night's Watch and now he is a King. They chose him, like your people chose you. Surely he must have done something right."

That comment gave her pause as she was pouring the wine into her own cup.

Tyrion raised both his brows high. "See? Something in common with the foe. I'll drink to that." He raised his cup to her and chugged it.

"Aren't Night's Watchmen vows, for life?" She asked, sometimes her history lessons escaped her but she was sure that was meant to be a defining feature of the Night's Watch. "If he was honour bound as you say he is why did he leave his position to become a King? Doesn't sound like someone who can keep his promises."

He shrugged, pouring himself another drink. _At this rate I'll end up with a drunken fool and not a coherent Hand._ But Dany knew Tyrion could hold his drink better than most men thrice his size. "I don't know much of what events transpired to land him his deceased brother's title. Just that he raised a host and won the Battle of the Bastards, and lost another brother in the process of it too."

 _Two brothers gone?_ She made a note of that. "What can the North provide for my cause anyway? How many men do they even have after the war?" She queried. "They're the most sparsely populated kingdom."

"I am not sure," Tyrion shook his head and pointed his cup at her, "but you are right in assuming they don't have large enough armies to defend themselves if you chose to march on the North. Now, consider that Jon Snow knows this; he still sailed here to meet you."

His clever green eyes were lifted to her over the rim of his cup as he sipped his wine, he thoroughly enjoyed coming to those kind of thoughtful and masterfully crafted conclusions. _He likes to talk._

"But he won't swear fealty, instead he goes on to preach about the Night King? I thought you knew him, you know we don't need more enemies." She barely had a grasp of the Reach now, if the North was going to remain in open rebellion, she would be stuck on Dragonstone and outmaneuvered in every direction she turned.

"You're right, therefore you need friends," smiled Tyrion. "Trust; Jon Snow isn't the most entertaining company to keep but no matter," he waved a hand through the air. "He is ruling over a very large chunk of the country and it would be wise to extend an olive branch."

Dany frowned unhappily. "He thinks I'm the Mad King's daughter through and through," the comparison continuously cropped up everywhere she went, and she despised it and wanted to remove herself as far from it as possible. "I could practically hear him say it out loud."

 _The truth is hard_. What battles had she won in Westeros? She was no great general, and what did her countrymen care of her feats in Essos? _There is still Casterly Rock and Highgarden_ , she reminded herself.

"Because he doesn't know you. Which is why we must continue to play this out in a diplomatic manner."

"What are you suggesting then?"

"Let's not jump to conclusions," he straightened in his seat, leaning closer to her and setting the cup on the map table. "Let's get to know him better, find some more similarities. We were companions on the long road to the Wall once. I will speak with him; see what I can do to calm the waters."

Knowing Tyrion and judging from Snow's more reserved nature she doubted they were chummy from the get-go.

"Very well," she nodded. A familiar face would do better than a strangers'. "Talk sense into him, I hope he returns with a better response than what he gave me this morning."

* * *

 ** _Episode Four: Spoils of War (after the Dragonglass negotiations have been settled)_**

 _DAENERYS_

The sunrise was an egg yellow wash, bleeding into the pale blue sky. Dany watched the horizon as her dragons; Viserion and Rhaegal soared higher into the clouds. _They are both larger compared to when we left Meereen, but not as big as Drogon_. Despite the mist obscuring their colored scales she knew exactly who was who. The sunlight rippled on Viserion's cream scales and the points of Rhaegal's wings glinted like a thousand emeralds.

They were a part of her soul, and she loved them even more with each passing day. Their talons hooked together and they spiraled sharply towards to the grey, rocky sea below, snapping at each other's necks with wide jaws. She loved watching them dance and play.

She continued to the balustrade over the stables, it was meant to be a quiet walk in solitude but a lone guard was never far behind her. Below her the Dothraki were training, grunting and swinging at one another. Their curved swords singing in the crisp morning air.

"Your Grace," a Northern accent rumbled near her.

Dany turned and Jon Snow approached her, the wind pushing the edges of his long fur cloak. She gave him a greeting nod, "Jon Snow." _Not a moment's peace in this castle._ Tyrion advised her to get to know him better, so she intended to follow that advice to the best of her ability. Dany had always sought to outdo herself and find the benefit within even the most awful circumstances. Gaining the allegiance of the Unsullied and the Khalasars was an example of that. _Except he doesn't have armies to offer, he's here for dragonglass. I can't make this one submit with Fire and Blood._ It was a new sort of challenge, a new kind of ally to make, a peaceful one, and the first one of its sort. Allies were hard to come by after the loss of Dorne and the Iron Islands. She had to welcome the slim pickings and take it while she had the chance. They had come to an understanding, and a temporary truce so far.

She had not seen him since their conversation on dragonglass. He handed her a piece of parchment in a gloved hand. "I've spoken to Ser Davos and decided on the supplies and men we need." Dany unfolded it and read it, "Very well," she then passed to the bloodrider near her to give to Missandei. And then they were alone. "I hope you find the mines and can commence work as soon as possible." _And be out of my hair as soon as possible._ She thought the exchange would be finished then, but he stayed.

He seemed to be mulling over his words, "I…apologize if I offended you, during our first meeting."

She quirked an eyebrow, _his words, or the words his Hand told him to say to me?_ "It's alright," she said, his brow raised too, _I surprise him_ , she enjoyed that she was still capable of that, _it isn't my armies or dragons that intimidate him or even impress him, it's my honesty._ She saw how he reacted when she asked for forgiveness for her father's crimes. _I have to own up to what Aerys did, and let the people know that I am not my father_.

Dany could earnestly not recall when she had ever forged an alliance without the use of fear. _It was my tried and true tactic, but not this time._ "Your opinion is one held by many in this country. To my great misfortune," it was refreshing that he appreciated her genuineness, and from the way he stopped saying 'Your Grace' with a hint of irony, perhaps he was slowly coming around to actually bending the knee, but she wouldn't ask it of him so soon after the last botched attempt. "Cersei Lannister can't stay on the Iron Throne. She took it by force and murdered hundreds of innocent lords in the Sept of Baelor, including her own kin. She used my father's obsessions with wildfire when she snatched the throne for herself. She's not fit to rule."

He leaned on the railing, staying three feet from her. "What do you plan on doing to her, if you win?" Snow asked.

He chose a difficult topic, she did not stray from it, but met it head on. "She is a traitor and so is her twin brother," Dany stated. "It may seem obvious what to do; yet I am still undecided," she hoped he did not notice her trepidation. Tyrion and her had not discussed it at length, he spoke of Jaime with a fondness and guilt, and of Cersei with disgust and mockery. When he was tipsy he could think of many ways he thought Cersei should be punished (although that lessened in number when he heard of his nephew's death).

"I have suggested to Tyrion that he can become Warden of the West of he so pleases." _But it would be a castle in ruin once the Unsullied have sacked it._

"Does he want it?"

"Mmhm, not particularly," she deadpanned. Surprisingly, that got a light chuckle from Jon Snow, although it was barely heard given the strength of the howling wind this near to the sea. She gave him a sidelong glance, the rest of his face remained flat and unreadable, but his eyes were thoughtful.

"They remind of the free folk, nomads, clans with chieftains," said Jon Snow after a long moment, peering out over the stables.

"'Wildlings,'" she said, recalling the stories Ser Barristan told her. "And they follow you now?"

"I helped them pass through the Wall. They helped me take back Winterfell from the Boltons." She could tell there was a remnant of bitterness in him over that war.

The Dothraki would never have come to heel and joined together until she came along and gave them a new purpose. _I won them with might and strength._ They were wild, ' _savages',_ just as the freefolk beyond the wall were. And yet, they both followed leaders who were not of their flesh and blood, who were once their enemies at some point.

She imagined Tyrion was somewhere nodding approvingly (into a cup of wine) of the similarities she was observing between her and Jon's successes in leadership.

Dany was curious to know more, "they've given trouble to the Night's watch for generations. And you let them pass," she let her words hang in the air for him to continu.

He looked to her, his gaze boring into her; "It wasn't easy." That sentence spoke volumes of the trials he must have had to overcome. Even after she invited him to dine with her yesterday he was still guarded in his speech and actions, not at all outspoken or boastful of his accomplishments despite being chosen as a King.

And as much as she did not want to think of it. Dany deeply admired that.

"And now they are loyal to you."

"I let them settle in the Gift," he told her, "they are loyal in words, but in their heart they don't kneel to any man. They just couldn't."

She raised an eyebrow; "I suppose that's a trait you learnt from them," she slipped in the dry comment to attempt levity but also hint at the final goal she wanted out of this alliance. But that only served to make him look more sullen,"a joke, Jon Snow," she said, immediately trying to mend it.

However, he made his next remark with a wry half-smile; "that and humor are definitely not my strong points."

Northerners were known to be a straightforward, proud bunch. _Perhaps he is not so hopeless at people skills after all._ Dany snorted; "if it's any consolation I think you are improving." The corner of his mouth itched to smile wider, but he quashed it like it was a mistake. _Shame._ _He has a good smile, but his eyes are sad._

She was serious again as she returned to the subject; "these freefolk… how did you treat with them? They sound like they would rather carve up a man of the Night's watch than parlay."

"I lived amongst them for a time. Learnt their ways," he told her. "Their leader listened to me until Stannis killed him."

"You lived with them by choice?" That was intriguing. She would never have known of Dothraki customs and understood them had she not lived with a khalasar. It wasn't by choice at first, and neither was his as she learnt;

"I was following orders. I stayed with them beyond the wall for as long as I could, spied on them," he looked out into the distance at the sea, evading her look, the conversation was getting hard for him. "But eventually, despite their differences, despite what they'd done to us in the past, I understood they weren't the real enemy and I let them through the wall."

"You must have disappointed a lot of people to accomplish that," she turned her glance from him to the sea as well. Her children were no longer playing above the cliffs. But they were near, their presence tugged on her heart, just like any bond a mother would have.

"Aye, brothers and northmen alike," Jon agreed. She glanced back at him and could've sworn that he quickly averted his eyes from her.

"I suppose, the visions we may have for the world, a new world, can be difficult to implement. I learnt that the hard way." _I failed in Meereen, multiple times, but I had to see it through to the end, somehow. My intentions were good, but it was difficult to see it amongst all the chaos that ensued afterwards._ "In their eyes you were a traitor," Dany said, staring at him. He was starting to be uncomfortable, clasping the railing tighter. He was a closed book in many cases, but whenever they neared the subject of Ser Davos's flight's of fancy phrase, 'he took a knife to the heart,' he was easy to read as any man was.

"Aye," he purposefully avoided her gaze.

"And how do you deal with traitors, Jon Snow?" She earnestly wanted to know. The way Tyrion spoke of Ned Stark, she could understand if many of those traits were embedded in Jon. _Honor, pride, family, selflessness, empathy_. "Such as the Boltons who murdered your lord brother and the Red Wedding?"

"Ramsay Bolton was not mine to seek retribution from, that was my sisters," Jon replied with more force. "If I can, I show mercy, but if can't I do what I must," he went on. "My father taught me that the one who passes the sentence, swings the sword. I make sure to watch their faces and ask for the last words of the men I must sentence to death." He finally turned to her then, a gaze so intense it could have cut through her.

But she held it; "You seem of weary killing," she said, softly. His eyes wandered over her countenance. She knew then, that he had earned her respect. She knew it yesterday when they spoke of the dragonglass, how he was still confident in his stance to not bend the knee, when the real war was beyond the wall. He was still here risking his life for his people, to treat with her when she at any instance could decide to execute him if she so pleased. _He is brave, I have to give him that, and he knows exactly what he wants._ She gulped and inhaled slowly before breaking their locked gazes and returning her attention to the Dothraki. "They never get tired of it," she commented referring to the horselords and their lust for blood. "I think if you could speak their language you wouldn't get along with the Dothraki in anyway."

He licked his lips, pressing them together; "It seems like a waste of human life, whilst the real enemy lies out there."

She peered at him sharply. _He still speaks of the army of the dead and the Night King. He means to convince me to use my army against this bizarre and unbelievable threat._ Jon's hand was closed in a fist, possibly imagining how it would look slamming into the jaw of this mystical Night King. Neither of them said anything. He excused himself.

* * *

 ** _Episode Four: Spoils of War (after the cave scene)_**

JON

It was the end of another long day in the dragonglass mines. The castle was deathly quiet. The flickering orange campfires of the Dothraki that dotted for miles as far as the eye could see were snuffed out by the whistling sea winds on the steep cliffs. The ocean chill did not stop the horsed men from camping outside. The castle could not house all of them, but they preferred to be outside besides. _Is this their home now?_ Jon wondered, walking back to his own quarters. _What happens to them if the war is won?_ The most recent great migration was accomplished by Nymeria, the Warrior Queen, thousands of years ago. _She met with hard times integrating her people into the country too. It is not going to be easy for Daenerys either._

Not like any of it would matter if they were dead when the winter winds came for them.

The halls leading to his chambers were deserted, his footfalls loud and echoing, you would not think the castle had any inhabitants. He thought of stopping by Ser Davos room to speak with him, but it was so late the knight was likely fast asleep.

Jon's rooms were larger than any he ever had, _fit for a king_ , he thought poignantly _._ Once upon a time when he occasionally held a childish grudge, when he was just a bastard with no titles or names, tarnish to Ned Stark's glittering reputation as an honorable man. He would have been green with jealously to see Robb become Lord of Winterfell.

 _Happy for him no less, but a little envious._

That was far from the case now. _I don't want it Robb._ _But they chose me, like they chose you._

He wished he could take it all back, all the spite, and all the feelings of being an outsider. _Go back to being that man with no names and titles._

He sighed heavily, his brain exhausted but his eyes refusing to close. The walk did not help to tire him out at all. He wandered to his balcony. The wind wasn't too strong on this side of the castle; one could even pretend that winter was late to Dragonstone or the rest of the country. Ugly, menacing gargoyles stood sentinel on crenels nearest him. The sea was dark here, the sky a midnight blue against it, if he listened closely he could hear the crash of waves on the beach. The stars winked down at him but were overcome by the halo of light emanating from the full moon.

If he were a more imaginative man he would have pretended like he was the only human for hundreds of miles around. It felt like it. _Instead there are enemies pressing from all sides._ But he was certain that the blonde one in the castle, who had been an enemy a few weeks ago was no longer an enemy to be fearful of. As he angled himself to return to the warmth of his room, he spotted another figure on a balcony much higher than his to his left. His breath caught in his throat.

She was far away enough that he would not have been able to make out her features had it not been for how startling those features were in the glimmer of the moonlight. Daenerys' hair was an unearthly silver glow, unbound from those complex braids she wore during the day; they fell in gentle waves across her shoulders, stirred by the breeze. Out of her structured, regal, black and red dress she wore a white linen robe to fight off the cold. Her skin was creamy porcelain.

Like a fool, Jon stared. She had been so close to him in that cramped cave he almost reached out to her then and there to touch her lips, to push a strand of her over her ear, to assess whether she was even real. He had never seen a woman like that before, not in the Seven Kingdoms, not in the world. _And she's the last of her House._ Not wearing her queenly facade, it was much easier to forget the arrogant, self-entitled proclamations she gave him on the first day he arrived here. _Even in this modest garb, she still manages to be intimidating but in a different way. A younger boy version of me would have stammered uncontrollably the moment I met her._

But right here, in this moment, she wasn't the Mother of Dragons. Her chest rose and fell as she yawned and rubbed sleepiness from her eyes. _Blue_ _eyes, sometimes lilac under the light._ Thinking she was unobserved by anyone, she leaned on the railing and rested her cheek on her hand. Jon had to remind himself to breathe. _I wonder how soft it would be._

As the thought formed in his mind he banished it swiftly. If he stayed any longer she may see him, and how was he going to explain his gawking? Feeling embarrassed of himself, he shook his head out of his stupor and went back inside.

* * *

DAENERYS

She huffed in exasperation and stared at her ceiling, unable to sleep. She touched her breast, her nipple was hard. She used to dream of Daario on the long voyage to Dragonstone during it's early days to help her sleep. But she was starting to forget his face. His wicked smile. _He was in awe of me. Of my strength._ Would she have held the same value if she had been a common highborn woman? Or a whore? If she lost all her military strength? She was a prize to him from the start, and she allowed it to distract her for the purpose of giving her comfort and affection in the lonely nights in her bed. _He told me to kill everyone, all the masters of Meereen._ She could scarcely believe she had allowed such recklessness into her bed.

Here in Westeros, she needed restraint, to have her hand tied behind her back, otherwise risk being seen as the madwoman who sought vengeance on those who caused the destruction of her family. She had not learnt enough in Meereen. _This was the real challenge, the real war I have been preparing for all my life, and still I feel as though I am that simpering little girl who was sold off._

What was it Jon Snow had said to her? _My claim comes with my name, nothing else_.

But how else was she to return home? She was Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen. Either she came home with an army behind her back or she didn't come home at all.

 _But I do not have the love of the people._ She needed to prove to her countrymen she was more than a foreign invader. But it was becoming increasingly difficult to hold her tongue and not to fly off on Drogon when she was losing allies left and right, losing the war against Cersei. _You cannot Sack King's Landing,_ she reminded herself. _You must find another way._

She tried not to let tactics, and those cave painting of the white walkers plague her thoughts or she was never going to get a wink of sleep, she had to relax and distract herself. She squeezed her breast, and tried to take some pleasure in it, breathing slowly. But even this act was becoming methodical and boring. She tried to think of Daario but attraction was replaced with the memories of the impatience she felt to leave Meereen and him, behind forever. Drogo was never coming back, and to allow him to enter this sleepless moment as she touched herself only put her off the mood as it made her more melancholic than aroused. Thus the lover she thought of was a figment of her imagination with features that always changed.

However, unbidden, a real face appeared in her mind, a newer face. Jon Snow.

She sighed, and trailed her hands down between her breasts and over her stomach. He was only a little taller than her, comely enough, with a lean build, graceful and patient with his words and his movements. Would his touch be gentle? Or brush against her skin roughly? Did he have the calloused fingers of a warrior? _He has scars on his face._ She wondered how they would feel beneath her fingers. With his honorable air about him one could presume he would never _touch_ a woman unless she was his wife. But who knew with the King of the North? He did not let anyone in so easily. Yet, he did not seem dangerous or forceful to her. _He would be gentle;_ she decided, _slow, take his time, revere at my body_.

Dany saw how he looked at her in the cave. The torch light casted dancing shadows against the dragonglass, that was as black and as dark as his eyes were when they joined with hers, so deep she could have lost herself in them. His gaze drifted to her lips, _or did I imagine that?_ Her fingers reached between her legs and she was wet.

 _I shouldn't,_ Dany stopped herself, _he is an ally not some bed-warmer, he treats me with respect a King should give a Queen._ She felt ridiculous and lifted her fingers to linger just below her naval before she snatched her hand and clamped it over her eyes. _Gods, you are a queen, Dany, not some blushing virgin._

* * *

 **Episode Four: Spoils of War. Before the Loot Train attack.**

JON

He saw the dragon in the distance, a fleck in the stormy grey sky at first, but it grew larger and larger. It flew by his balcony and Jon's heart near stopped. It glided lazily and slowly, casting a shadow over the tower as if it suddenly turned night over the island. Its scales were jet black with ruby red etchings. It's eyes were two fires. The dragons continued to steal his breathe without fail. Drogon swerved and landed with a thunder clap onto the cliff.

It reared his head to his direction, Jon's heart shuddered as it blinked at him, and he thought it might let out a deafening, menacing roar, knowing that it was being observed by a puny little man that it could swallow in one bite. Instead, it rested its head on the soft, tall grass. The black and red beast was bigger than it's brothers. She favored this one the most. Missandei said that it was named for her late husband; Khal Drogo. He had broached the topic once. He remembered her lilac eyes, and how pained they were despite her standoffish manner. Thus, he made a mental note to avoid it all together unless she brought it up first.

Who would have believed these creatures would exist again in his lifetime? _Arya would have loved to see one,_ he thought with a tinge of sadness.

Jon made his way out to the main gates of Dragonstone where two stone dragonheads rested on either side of the gigantic doorway. It was there where he would say farewell to her before she rode off into battle.

Daenerys had her back to him as she embraced Missandei in a quick hug. _She is a good to her friends._ The queen's advisor was worried, as all of them naturally were.

Highgarden was the last straw. She was tired of losing; she wanted to fight for her birthright. Even if it meant she had to risk her life as Lord Tyrion keep pointing out to her during the War Council after the news was delivered on the beach. "If I won't risk my life for the people, what kind of Queen am I? Certainly not one I would want to follow," she snapped at him during the meeting, effectively shooting him down for the last time.

She was going through with the plan, bugger all who would try to defy her. On the beach, he was stunned when she spun to him for his opinion. Davos had counselled that he try to get to her know her better whilst he was here. He didn't think he had gotten anywhere with their countless long talks on the balconies of Dragonstone, or at the meals she invited him and Davos to attend. The loss of Highgarden was not his quarrel to be apart of, he and Davos had no bloody clue why they were there, when her fierce glare and rage was unleashed on the poor Lannister lord. But when she asked, he voiced what he sincerely thought was the right action to take. _Don't burn castles, don't be more of the same._ She took it with a grain of salt, and eventually formed a plan around it. There was an unspoken level of respect, and (dare he even think of it) admiration between them.

Even as he repeated the words 'respect' and 'admiration' in his head. There was an unmistakable ache in his chest every time he was around her and even when he was alone. And it was growing, faster with each conversation. He felt like he was balancing on the edge of the cliff sometimes, moments from falling, and he would have if he let himself. But he couldn't. He had to keep his feet firmly planted on solid ground.

 _Winter is here._

"Your Grace."

She didn't hear him. Her forehead was creased in concentration as she fumbled to put on her gloves. She dropped one on the ground and for a fraction of a second her queenly poise and grace was forgotten as she cursed under her breathe. Jon bent swiftly and picked it up for her, their eyes meeting as they both straightened. His heart clenched a little at her loveliness. The wind stirred her long braid, cheeks flushed from the biting wind and in the golden sunlight her skin was smooth and radiant. _Yet she's a few minutes away from mounting a dragon to kill thousands of Lannister soldiers._ The juxtaposition was jarring, even for Jon, he was still awestruck by the idea of it.

"Jon Snow," she said, taking the glove from him, their fingers brushing.

He didn't exactly condone the strategy she was going to take for personal reasons. "Are you sure you want to do this?" He asked, risking being a target of her wrath like Tyrion was.

"Absolutely," she said with cool, hard-set, determination in her eyes that sent a chill down his spine.

"I wish you a safe journey," he reached for her hand and she accepted it. It was so small in his, he gave it a formal shake. The gesture was something he would have done to a brother of the Nights' Watch before a battle. She deserved it too.

They looked at each other long moment, his heart beating fast, he was still holding her hand.

"I've never ridden Drogon into battle before," she admitted abruptly, letting go. "Not this sort anyway. Any last minute advice before I fly off?"

"Break their line first," said Jon. "Don't burn too many men," he added, again risking her wrath.

But she didn't lash out at him, she listened. "When I win," she said steadily, he did not miss the unwavering confidence she held. "I will speak with the remainder of their force, I will give them a choice. I held back and I hope they understand I was trying to avoid bringing my dragons into combat for as long as possible. I imagine if Cersei had all the wildfire in the world to drop from the sky she would not hesitate to unleash it if it meant obliterating her enemies. But I held back. I want them to know that I am different."

He didn't know why she told him all this, but he liked to hear it anyway. "I trust you will do what is needed, Your Grace," he told her, "even if I have my doubts I do believe in what you're trying to achieve." Her eyes widened, big, blue and bright at his half-compliment. He remedied the break in his formal character with a stiff nod of acknowledgment, catching himself before he stared too long again. She swallowed, he watched the hallow of her neck. "I will see you soon, Jon Snow." She gave him a rare smile, it was tight and brief, but she smiled with her eyes nonetheless.

 _Co_ _uld this be the last I will ever see of her?_

Daenerys turned from him and descended down the winding steps. She disappeared and then reappeared on the cliff side. The dragon let out a low grumble as she petted its head. She stayed like that for a while; she was so tiny beside it. Suddenly, the Queen stepped onto its leathery wing and climbed onto its back, it began to spur.

She sat on it's spinal crest, she looked around, and he could've have sworn she saw him still standing there. With a booming roar the dragon raised its expansive wings. It extended its long, thick neck and took off, tail whipping behind it. _._

 _What if she falls?_ He thought with disquiet as she gained altitude. _The beast is a thousand times her size, and she is hundreds of feet above open sea, one wrong dip and she plummets to her death._

He watched attentively. The dragon sailed downwards, so fast it was a blur of black and red. Then it weaved upwards and pushed itself higher into the sky. She didn't fall. The Dragon and its rider started to get smaller and smaller until they disappeared into the grey clouds. It was magnificent sight to behold.

 _I pray the people are prepared for vengeance of a Targaryen. I pray she finds the answers she seeks._

 _I also pray they do not suffer too._

* * *

 ** _I am sooo sleepy but I simply had to finish and post this! Thank you for reading! As I said when I post the next chapter after this (chapter 3) I'll rearrange them to fit the timeline, hopefully it'll make sense! I hope this has fleshed out their relationship and how it developed a bit more. Please review, fav and follow :))_**


	2. Chapter 2

**_!SPOILERS FOR SEASON 7 GAME OF THRONES!_**

 ** _Hello folks, I have never written outside the genre of superhero fanfics. GoT is a beast I never thought I could tackle, given how much I admire GRRM's writing and am obsessed with asoiaf. But fanfics are birthed from a need to get down and get creative with a story that just won't let you go. I may add more scenes prior to 7x06 to show more of JonxDany development that we couldn't see on screen if I feel like it because most of my time is dedicated to my Daredevil fic. Nevertheless, I really wanted to write about the effect of Viserion's death on Dany since we didn't see it either. Enjoy!_**

 ** _Disclaimer I do not own any rights to ASOIAF or Game of Thrones._**

* * *

DAENERYS

Finally she was alone, she shut the door to her room and locked it. Daenerys was reeling from seeing Jon's scars, crescent shape on his chest. It appeared as though they never healed properly, as if the cut away flesh would always remain a reminder of another lifetime entirely.

She walked to the center of the room. Her breaths becoming faster and more shallow. She had been a mirage walking up the Wall, still in shock, unable to properly give her emotions life amongst strangers, and even with Jorah. Drogon had screamed endlessly for his brother while she was atop the Wall, and in a flight of desperation she imagined that Viserion would appear from the clouds. Jorah had told her it was time to leave, but she couldn't.

 _I can't leave now. He will return to me. I can't abandon him._

 _Nor can I abandon Jon Snow._

Thus she waited as long as she could. Holding back the dam. The cold winds biting on her cheeks as she stared out at the barren forests below her. She only rose from her reverie when from some miracle Jon returned on the black horse. She wanted to burst into tears immediately but held them back. Dany was glad he was alive, _more than glad,_ it was a temporary rush of warmth through her veins in this hostile tundra.

But Jon Snow's pale blue and white skin disappeared from her mind, even the sheer relief he somehow made it out alive from the icy death and destruction of the white walkers could not hide the true agony this journey beyond the Wall had brought down on her.

That familiar tug of Viserion that was latched onto her soul was no longer there. _I can't feel him anymore._ It wasn't real, it couldn't have been real, she still could not fathom it even her in her solitude. She would walk to the deck and see his shimmering gold and cream scales as he flew above her head; _maybe he is home, resting on the windy cliffs of Dragonstone._

But neither of those was the bitter, gut-wrenching truth. She knew it. Felt it. There was no bond in her heart where he should have been, only a raw, gaping hole that was tearing her apart.

Dany inhaled and shattered into sobs that wracked through her entire body. She closed her hand over her mouth to quiet them but there was no stopping the waves of grief pouring out of her eyes.

Every moment of the battle rushed to her and flashed in her mind's eye at an overwhelming speed. The army of dead men with their peeling flesh grasping at her and Drogon, the Night King with his crown of ice. The feral, tortured, pained cry of Viserion as he sailed downwards to his death, a curtain of blood pouring out of him into the frosty air. _He is a dragon. He is a dragon._ _He can't fall, he can't die._

But he did.

He clung to the edge when he crashed into the lake's frozen surface, pools of his hot blood smoking on the snow.

 _Fly my love, FLY_ she willed him to follow her orders with her thoughts, like she could with all of her children. _Fly, please…_ she desperately begged in her horrified silence. But his eyes, the colour of molten gold, dimmed and closed forever.

A burst of rage ignited in her and she kicked the chair by the table out from under it. But it changed nothing of how she felt. _I will never have anymore children._ _He is taken from me forever._ Dany's knees were weak, she flattened her hand over her heart, her chest was as heavy as lead, pulling her down. Shuddering, gasping, she was crippled on the middle of the floor. _It hurts so much._ Tears ran down her face, they stung and tasted like salt, fresh ones replaced the old and it was hard to even breathe.

...

She could not say how many hours or days passed. She was exhausted, but she couldn't recall if she really slept. Dany was curled into a ball, clutching her stomach tenderly as if it had been kicked in a dozen times. A few knocks came and went, but she answered none of them. She needed to be alone; nobody could see her in this state of absolute vulnerability.

She had taken off her gloves, kicked off her boots, and lied in a shift beneath the covers. This far north the sky was always dull; the sun barely breached the barrier of clouds. Dany stared through a haze of tears at the circlet of light on the floor, it disappeared when night fell, and returned with a soft gold when the sun rose, _gold like Viserion's eyes._

Silent tears rolled down her cheeks and stained her pillow whenever she remembered him. The cabin was cold; making her joints stiff and aching, she could see her breath fog in front of her. Not that she cared any longer if she froze to death.

The Iron Throne was hers by right. _I have fought for it my entire life, I have suffered for it my entire life, escaped death. I endured my brother's cruelty, I accepted my fate with Drogo, I freed the slaves, I gained my wealth, my titles, my people, my ships. I have my dragons._ The Iron Thrones was within her reach mere months ago. But a new knot twisted her belly as the realisation struck her like falling bricks;

 _I have to let it go._

That pained her almost as much as the loss of her child. The end was coming for them all. _What do I do now? Who am I now?_ Her mind was a swirl of darkness and chaos, with no sight of the future. The hole in her heart may stop growing but it was never going to heal. In her dreams there was still three of them, roaring flames around her. She regretted ever chaining Rhaegal and Viserion below the pyramids of Meereen. _They should have been free._

Once the discomfort of her raw throat became an issue she couldn't ignore in her depression, she rose to sit and pour herself some water. Dany wiped away the dry tears and sipped. It made her feel marginally better. She glimpsed at her three-headed dragon pin attached to the white dress discarded on the floor. _The Gods gave me three dragons. I still have Rhaegal and Drogon,_ she told herself. _I still have my armies, I have,_ she gulped as her heart and mind came to terms with it... _and I have him._

Dany wanted to wallow for another week, sleep forever. But she was tired of wallowing. And nothing could be accomplished if she did that. _We are not lost._ The Night King had ruthlessly ripped her child from the sky, and he wasn't going to stop until he conquered the world and plunged it into ice and darkness for eternity. When that blood witch robbed the moon of her life and her human child from her she made it her duty to take back the Iron Throne from the Usurper as was her birthright, to lead her people to refuge out of the Red Waste. To forge a better world.

The only way she could see herself handling this grief was to replace it with something else just as mighty.

Jon Snow had been right. In his seemingly random and deranged proclamations he had been right. There could be no Seven Kingdoms, no Westeros, and no Iron Throne if the Night King and his army won.

 _I should never have left Essos,_ she vaguely entertained the notion. But that was not her homeland, _yet here I am, and most of my allies are dead. What chance do we stand?_ She had seen the Night King's legions; _he can raise thousands more with his magic. If I fight for Westeros and I lose Drogon and Rhaegal in the process? How will I live? I should have learnt my lesson when the Lannister bolt went into Drogon's shoulder._

Dany swallowed hard. Either path was cursed.

 _If I knew of the white walkers,_ _I would have taken all three of them years ago and flown to somewhere warm and vast where they could roam and hunt freely, where no man has gone, somewhere winter will never touch._ When she closed her eyes Jon Snow was there with her in this dreamy haven, and that was all she needed. They would run off and be blissfully ignorant to the white walkers and the Cersei's of the world.

But that was not reality. And that was not Daenerys Stormborn. And luckily for all of them, and to her deepest admiration, that was not Jon Snow either. Indeed, she was terrified to her core of losing more children _. And everyone and everything I have ever known._

But she could not, _would not_ , cower. _I protected the slaves from their masters, and I must do the same and protect mankind once more against a deadlier, more sinister threat to the country. I am the Protector of the Realm._ Being Queen, breaking the wheel, those hopes may never come to fruition, as painful as it was to admit it. She could not decide what her long term plan was.

But she knew she had to fight.

With this newfound purpose pulsing through her veins, setting her heart to a rising, steady thrum, she made herself decent. She had a black dress, the appropriate mourning attire. Dany washed her face and did her hair with cool resolution. Her eyes were red rimmed and puffy, mouth set in grim determination, she held her queenly posture and kept her thoughts in check.

Dany opened the door and stopped a servant who looked at her with wild eyes as if they had not expected to see her. She instructed him to tell Jorah and the others she was awake but to leave her be for now, she knew the knight would be worried about her. Food was brought to her, even without the appetite she managed a few bites to regain her strength.

Once she was ready, she immediately made her way to Jon's room. She needed to tell him. She had to let him know that finally—after all his pleas and explanations and her commands for him to bend the knee—she understood.

He was still sound asleep when she entered, the furs rising with each breath he dragged in. Dany sat on the bed beside him, her eyes weighing a tonne from all the tears she spent. To be honest, she wasn't sure if she had cried out the last of it. She would hold her composure as best she could before him. _I will be brave and strong, a dragon, like Viserion._

She wasn't sure how long she sat there staring at him. Sometimes he was so still she thought he might be dead too. He was at peace, black curls framing his ashen face, as the sun rose higher she could see that some colour was returning to him. Asleep, he looked younger than he acted with the duty of King thrust upon his shoulders. Her fingers were interlocked on her lap but she longed to touch the scars on his chest, as appalling as the idea was, she wanted to feel how deep they went, learn how he survived. Just hear his rumbling Northern accent once more.

She was almost a hundred percent certain how she felt about him, she could no longer deny it to herself. Most unfortunate souls never find someone they can love and respect as an equal in their lifetime. He challenged her at every turn to become better than who she was. But again, she needed to be resilient, to not cry, to hold herself back as best she could. She had no intention of saying how she truly felt out loud, for if it was said out loud then it could never be taken back. With the threat of the Night King already here, both their lives were on the threat of being cut tragically short. _Would I cry just as much as I cried for Viserion if I lose him in the wars to come?_ Dany doubted she could bear it. She needed to be strong for her remaining children and for her people. There was no point to add more complicated, open wounds to the one she was scarcely healing from. Simply being here and showing that she cared and would fight with him would have to be enough.

And then, he started to rouse from his slumber, a shaky breath at first. Dany steeled herself, her heart hammering as fast as a hummingbird. She leaned a little closer. He opened his eyes slowly; they were almost as black as his hair. Her resilience was fading as tears pricked her eyes. And their gazes met.

* * *

 **If there are mistakes I apologize. If you think this is worth expanding please let me know by following or reviewing. Have a good one :))**


End file.
